


The Insomnia Club

by SEMellark



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Insomnia, M/M, arithmomania, as if they haven't all suffered enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEMellark/pseuds/SEMellark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when things started getting a little crazy, but if Armin had to pick a specific moment in time, it would be when Marco lost all feeling in the right half of his body for ten minutes when they were thirteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SNK Reincarnation AU that no one asked for ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The clock strikes eleven.

“Anything?”

Then twelve.

“How ‘bout now?”

Four.

“ _Now?”_

“Eren, if you don’t shut the hell up, I swear to God.”

Six.

“… Fuck.”

Another sleepless night.

* * *

Jean has his dark hood pulled up and his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and he would look to be asleep if not for the bloodshot glare he keeps shooting Eren’s way.

Eren, to his credit, ignores him to the best of his ability, holding his mug of coffee with both hands and taking large gulps that must burn his throat. His leg bounces restlessly underneath the table, and his knee brushes against Armin’s every so often.

Marco observes them through hooded eyes, hair a mess and clothes in similar disarray. There’s a cigarette perched precariously between his fingers, though he hasn’t taken a drag in about thirteen minutes. Ash falls down to the table in belated intervals, once every thirty seconds, then forty-five, then a whole minute.

Armin only knows because he’s been watching.

“Another rough night, boys?” The waitress passes by their table every ten minutes to refill Eren’s coffee when he sets it down. “Might as well just leave the pot here for you.”

“I don’t know. Takes a real smart person to pour coffee.” Eren replies, flippant in his exhaustion, and the woman with her crooked name tag smiles at him, tightlipped, before retreating back behind the counter.

Jean grunts, sliding down further in the booth. “You asshole.”

“She rubs me the wrong way.” Eren replies, forehead creased in confusion. It isn’t uncommon for him to be irritable, but he is hardly ever rude to anyone who has done him no real disservice. “We come here a lot. So what?”

“She was trying to make conversation.” Marco murmurs, lifting the cigarette to his lips slowly, making it fifteen minutes since the last time. “The least you can do is humor her since we take up her table space every night.”

Eren shrugs, sliding his mug across the table to Jean, who reaches forward to take it with a practiced lethargy. “Well, what’s the verdict, Armin?”

The three of them wait, the air bated and tense, and Armin takes it in, thinks about how the night has progressed thus far, and comes to a decision.

“Seven.” He declares, and his companions sag in defeat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna post the next one now to get a better feel for the story.

Twelve-thirteen on a Thursday afternoon finds Armin making his way down to the principal’s office, a pink detention slip clutched in his hand.

He stares down at his scuffed and dirty sneakers as he walks, counting his steps. He’s not really as bothered as he should be by getting caught sleeping in class. It was seventeen minutes of bliss, seventeen minutes of sleep more than he’d gotten last night.

Weighing the repercussions and considering that he hardly ever gets into trouble like this, Armin thinks it was all probably worth it.

He walks into the school office with the cautious steps of a weary animal, though the faculty members darting in and out of rooms and sitting at cluttered desks hardly give him a second glance.

The principal’s office is tucked neatly into a back corner, away from most of the hustle and bustle, which doesn’t really make sense to Armin, but, hey, to each their own. There are two wooden chairs for maximum discomfort positioned just to the left of the door, and Armin sighs when he sees that one is already occupied.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.” Eren says with a crooked grin, and Armin gives him a quick once over before sitting down. No bruises, no blood. And if Eren had gotten into a fight, then surely Jean would be here as well. No matter how much they bicker, Armin and Marco both agree that their boys were born to be partners in crime.

“The last time we were here together was about three and a half months ago.” Armin replies as Eren slings a heavy arm over his shoulders. He’s warm, as always, and it only makes the fatigue worse. “The infamous locker room rendezvous.”

“ _Best_ idea I’ve ever had.”

“Jury’s out. What are you doing here?”

Eren’s leg bounces, muted, against the carpeted floor. “Dozed off for a bit in chem lab and almost set some shit on fire.”

Armin sighs. “ _Eren._ ”

“Hey, Marco was there to do damage control, it’s fine.” Eren shifts, curling his body inward to face Armin more. “What’s up? Getting in trouble isn’t really your thing.”

“Like I asked to get sent down here.”

“Oh, I see.” Eren tuts, using his free hand to pat Armin’s left knee. “You fell asleep in class again. Well, hey, you aren’t the first and you sure as hell won’t be the last. No big deal.”

Armin shakes his head. “I don’t care. Compared to how often you and Jean get sent down here, this is nothing on my record.”

The brunet beside him shakes with quiet laughter. The hand on Armin’s knee is lifted carefully up to his face, and he sits perfectly still as Eren’s calloused fingers brush the hair out of his face. “You seem really out of it.”

“I feel really out of it.”

“You think you can work tonight?” Eren asks, and Armin almost groans out loud, having completely forgotten about his shift at the theater. “I bet someone would cover for you if you asked. Everyone down there likes you.”

“I’d feel bad, though.”

“It’s not like you take a lot of sick days or slack off.”

“True. I’m not you and Jean.”

Eren pinches his cheek, and Armin slaps his hand away, rubbing at his face grudgingly while trying to fight off a smile.

“Call after school.” Eren insists. “We’ll stay in tonight. Watch a movie or something.”

The idea isn’t a bad one, certainly better than getting each other off in the locker room after gym class. And Armin actually does feel somewhat better at the suggestion, if not a little resigned.

Date nights with Eren are both a blessing and a curse. They seem to go on forever, because the both of them hardly sleep.

“Jaeger.” They both stiffen as the door beside them creaks open. Eren doesn’t retract his arm. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Ten bucks he bites his tongue while yelling at me.” Eren whispers in Armin’s ear, lips ghosting the skin there before making contact when Eren leans up to kiss his temple. “See you in detention later.”

Armin gives a small, abortive wave as Mr. Bozado glares them down, though he doesn’t waste his breath reprimanding them, disappearing back into his office with Eren trailing behind.

He probably knows by now that any attempt to get them to shape up will be useless. Because Armin has a tendency to come to life under pressure, never mind that Eren is just a terrible influence.


	3. Chapter 3

He ends up falling asleep once they get home from school, and it’s a unanimous thing, how no one even tries to wake him.

No homework, no _actual_ work, no date night with Eren. Just peace, short lived though it is.

It’s still light out when he wakes up, facedown in the small bed he shares with Eren, tucked neatly in the corner of their tiny bedroom. He heaves a giant sigh, nuzzling his forehead into his pillow, and feels the bed shift beside him in response.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Hey. How long was I asleep?” Armin peaks up through his hair, taking in Jean’s expressionless face as he taps away at his phone.

“Uh, fifty-one minutes, twenty-four seconds.” Jean replies, resetting his _Armin’s Sleep Counter_ timer. Armin has one on his own phone, but he’d forgotten to turn it on before he passed out, so he’s extremely grateful Jean, at least, had the mind to do it. “You gotta admit, that’s pretty decent.”

Armin sighs again, closing his eyes. It’s quiet in the apartment. The television in the living room isn’t on and the air doesn’t smell of smoke, so Eren and Marco must be gone.

The blond is awake enough to understand that Eren won’t be pleased to find that his side of the bed smells like Jean when he gets back, and that’s a problem he doesn’t have the energy to fix. “Where’s Eren?”

“Went to the store with Marco. Asked me to sit with you.”

“Oh. That’s okay then.” Armin yawns, turning over onto his back and sitting up, ignoring the questioning look Jean shoots his way. “Crap, I never did call in sick to work.”

“Eren did that before he left.” Jean says, fiddling away with his phone once again. “You’re good.”

Armin presses the back of his hand to his mouth to hide his smile. It’s odd, really. He’s known Eren since they were children, remembers all the bruised knees and melodramatic tears and bed-wetting incidents, but he never really stops being amazed by him, even by the little things Eren does.

Settling himself back against the wall the bed is pressed against, Armin takes a moment to take in Jean’s overall appearance. He seems bored, which is nothing new, but he’s wearing the faded Guns N’ Roses hoodie a size too small for him. He only does that when he’s really missing his mom.

“You were talking in your sleep.”

Armin starts, though he’s relieved Jean is in a good enough state to interact. “Was I?”

Jean nods. “Something about trees.”

“… Trees.”

“Like I’d make that shit up.”

“No, it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just.” Armin tries to remember if he’d been dreaming at all. He hardly does, what with his sporadic sleep schedule. “Odd.”

With a huge sigh, Jean squirms in his spot and turns to look at Armin. The shadows under his eyes look horrible. But then, they almost always do. He was the first to stop sleeping, a few days after Marco’s incident. “You said my name, too.”

Armin narrows his eyes. “I was _not_ having some weird sex dream about you.”

The look of surprise on Jean’s face quickly melts into one of disgust, and Armin resists the urge to laugh, not offended in the least. “Well, I sure fuckin’ hope not.”

And Armin laughs, even though his mind is running a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to say next. Usually Marco is around when Jean starts wearing the hoodie. He’s better at dealing with Jean’s moods than anybody, so Armin is somewhat at a loss.

Thankfully, the front door opens with a moaning creak, and Armin counts the footsteps by drumming his fingertips on his thigh before the bedroom door bursts open.

“We’re having pizza for dinner.” Eren announces, hands shoved into his pockets as he does a quick sweep of the room. He always does that, but Armin doesn’t know what he’s looking for. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“You _asked_ me to stay with him.” Jean grunts as Eren moves toward the bed in three quick strides, scrambling over Jean’s body in a pointedly erratic manner only to settle on his stomach between the spread of Armin’s legs. “Don’t tell me you left Marco to carry in all the bags himself.”

“That’s your job.” Eren sniffs, wrapping his arms around Armin’s waist and pushing his face into his stomach. Armin doesn’t bother to hide his smile this time as he runs his fingers through his boyfriend’s dark hair. “I’m saying hi to Armin.”

The roll of his eyes is large and dramatic – and totally lost on Eren – but Jean scoots off the bed anyway, shuffling out of the room and closing the door behind him.

The change is instant. Eren practically sags, and Armin tightens his grip, slides his hands down to Eren’s shoulder blades.

“He was wearing the hoodie.” Eren mumbles, turning his face against Armin’s stomach so he can be heard clearly.

“Yeah.”

“Did you say anything to him?”

Armin tips his head back against the wall, staring up at the spider web cracks in their ceiling. “I thought Marco would probably do a better job.”

Eren has nothing to say to that, because he knows Armin is right. The four of them are close, sure, but there are just some things Jean probably says to Marco that he wouldn’t to Armin and Eren. It’s to be expected, as their relationships with one another are different on individual levels, but Armin still wishes he could help more.

“What kind of day is it?” Eren asks. He breathes quietly, evenly, and his eyes are closed when Armin looks down. He wants so badly to nap, and Armin almost feels guilty for the fifty-one minutes and twenty-four seconds of sleep he got.

“I think… today’s been a five.” Armin breathes, glancing at the door and at the calendar that hangs there, at the series of numbers Eren etches down on each square at the end of each day. The seven from yesterday, thick and uniform in Eren's handwriting, makes Armin feel sick. “So, it’s an improvement.”

Eren sighs, heavy and drifting between Armin’s thighs. “The night is still young."

* * *

Three in the morning finds Armin and Marco alone in their booth, drinking from tasteless cups of coffee and trying to ignore the empty spaces beside them.

Jean and Eren dropped off at two and one forty-five, respectively. Marco was crying quietly in the kitchen when Armin finished with Eren, staring over the countertop at where Jean was passed out over the arm of the couch.

“This is the first time he’s slept in three days.” He’d said when Armin came to him. “He was starting to hear things again.”

They left for the diner as soon as they were certain neither Eren nor Jean would suddenly wake up. They were even quiet on the walk down the street, treading as if they ran the risk of waking their boyfriends even from so far away.

“The other two aren’t with you tonight?”

“Sleeping like babies.” Marco responds easily with no trace of his earlier turmoil.

Their waitress smiles, tired and wane, the loose hair from her ponytail clinging to her face. Armin has to wonder why she doesn’t ask about their presence here night after night. Maybe she’s too nervous. Maybe she doesn’t care.

Or maybe she gets it.

Marco smokes two cigarettes to ashes in the time it takes for the diner door to open with a chime. Armin has his back to it, but from the quick flit of Marco’s dark eyes, he has a guess as to who it is.

“That was… what, thirty minutes?” Eren rasps as Armin slides over in his seat to make room for him.

Armin purses his lips, watching as Eren’s leg begins to bounce even before he’s completely settled. “Twenty-nine.”

“What happened to your hand?” Marco asks just as Armin catches sight of a row of angry teeth marks below Eren's thumb on his left hand, irritated and red and lined with drying blood.

“I bit it in my sleep.” Eren shrugs, but he hisses quietly as Armin reaches over to touch the wound with careful fingertips, shooting his boyfriend a scathing look. “That’s what woke me up.”

Armin can’t help but worry. This isn’t anything new, Eren gnawing at his hand when he’s nervous or upset, but this is the first time he’s ever drawn blood. “Did you even disinfect it?”

“It’s fine.” Eren snaps, loud enough that their usual waitress jumps from behind the counter, eyes wide like a dear caught in the headlights as she stares over at their table. “Let it go, Armin.”

Marco continues to say nothing, now gazing out the window and onto the vacant streets with an equally vacant look in his eyes. Armin retracts his hands, instinctually wanting to apologize even though he’s done nothing wrong. “Today’s gone up to an eight.” He says instead.

Eren nods, refusing to look up from the table. “I already marked it on the calendar.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I anticipate that these chapters will get longer, but at this point it's hard to say.

The phone rings while Armin is struggling over his algebra homework, knowing the answers but unable to write them down because they just _don’t look right._

Eren had offered to help him before he and Jean left for work, but Armin had waved him off, determined to overcome the obstacle on his own, though he kind of wishes he’d just accepted Eren’s offer.

The landline is their shared channel of communication, as none of them actually have service on their cell phones, but Armin opts to ignore it as he hears Marco shuffle out of the bathroom, calling out a soft, “I’ll get it,” as he does.

Marco walks with hurried steps, and the phone rings once, two times before he finally picks up, sparing Armin the grievance of a third ring. “Hello?”

Armin focuses all his attention on the loose-leaf paper in front of him, willing his muscles to stop quivering as he jots down the answer to a simple multiplication problem. But it isn’t right, even though it _is,_ the second number shouldn’t be higher than the first, and the third shouldn’t be higher than the second, and his thoughts won't stop wandering to the _stupid_ calendar in the bedroom –

“ _Armin.”_ Marco is staring at him when Armin finally pries his eyes from the paper, hand placed over the phone’s receiver. “It’s for you.”

He hadn’t even noticed how high his heart rate had climbed. Relief and frustration come in quick breaths as Armin releases the death grip he has on his pencil and stands from the couch, walking over to Marco with legs much too stiff.

“I’ll do your math for you.” The other boy says before handing Armin the phone. His brown eyes are dark but clear, more lucid than they’ve been in a long time. “At least until Eren gets back.”

Armin jerkily nods, grateful but unable to say it, and Marco places a fleeting hand on his shoulder before moving to take over what Armin had started. He lifts the phone to his ear. “… Hello?”

“Armin! I almost didn’t recognize your voice. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it.”

The teenager almost sags in his relief, and even if his heart is still beating too fast, it doesn’t hurt as much. “Hi, Papa. How was London?”

“It was a little too much for these old bones to handle.” His grandfather laughs, and Armin carries the phone over to the couch, sitting down beside Marco, who is frowning down at the textbook. “Lots of walking.”

They go back and forth like this for some time – only eleven minutes, really, but that’s longer than Armin normally talks to _anyone_ aside from Eren, Jean, and Marco. His grandfather recounts the sights he saw in London, the busy, backwards streets and the serene countryside. And Armin listens dutifully as he always does when his grandfather returns home from his adventures, picturing those hills, almost smelling the oceans, completely immersed in the tale the old man is weaving.

It doesn’t last long at all. “You’re still in school, aren’t you?”

Armin nods to himself, even if his grandfather can’t see. “Yes, I am. We’re graduating in May.”

“That’s good to hear.” Armin can already tell the conversation is quickly heading south. There was once a time when Armin was closer to his paternal grandfather than anyone else, but that seems like such a long time ago. These days, they hardly know what to say to one another when it comes to personal matters. “Make sure to keep your grades up. Finish the year strong.”

“I will.”

“How’s that boy of yours doing? Still treating you right?” His tone is just mildly threatening, as it always is when he asks after Eren, and Armin actually finds himself smiling.

“Eren’s fine, Papa. And, yes, he’s treating me right.”

“A little _too_ right.” Marco muses, tapping the eraser of Armin’s pencil against his chin. “Those poor box springs.”

Armin delivers a soft but pointed kick to the side of Marco’s leg, and his friend goes back to working math problems. His grandfather says something in his ear, but Armin is too distracted to catch it. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, how are you doing, Armin?” The words are slow and careful. The elderly man knows better than to treat his grandson like a caged animal, but his inflection gives him away. “And don’t feel like you have to lie to me.”

“I’m… okay.” Armin says. There’s no other way to describe how he is. “I’ve been better. I’ve been worse, too.”

“You spoken to your mom and dad lately?”

Beside him, Marco stills considerably, most likely able to hear both sides of the conversation. Apartment Rule Number One: Never mention parents. But of course, Armin’s grandfather couldn’t possibly know. “No, I haven’t.”

His grandfather sighs. “Armin – “

“It’s okay, really.” He interrupts, shooting Marco a wide-eyed look. “Um, Papa, could you just – “

Marco takes the phone from him without preamble. And Armin just lets him, helpless in more ways than one. This is what Marco is good at, taking care of others, but it doesn’t make Armin feel any less guilty.

“Mr. Arlert? It’s Marco again. Sorry, Armin isn’t feeling too well, he’s going to have to call you back some other time.”

Phone calls to the apartment almost always end like this. There’s hardly anyone they actually _want_ to speak with.  

Marco hangs up with a lingering sigh, rolling Armin’s pencil between his fingers. “He means well. Out of all of them, I’d say he’s the most polite, at least.”

“Yeah.” Armin says, taking the phone from Marco to check how long the call had actually lasted. Thirteen minutes, forty-two seconds. “Papa deserves better.”


	5. Chapter 5

_When he finally sees the ocean, it’s wonderful and vast, just as he read in his parents’ books. The water peaks and rolls in white-crested waves that lose power and momentum the closer they get to the shore, and white birds with black-tipped wings litter the skies._

_It’s… liberating. No politics. No walls. Absolutely nothing to hold him back after so many years of oppression. But even still…_

_His knees hit the dampened sand with a muted sound, drowned out by the rhythmic push and pull of the tide._

_Those books never told him… what a lonely place the ocean was._

* * *

A single touch is what wakes him, soft and careful, and Armin groans, swatting at the air, unsure of what’s happening.

“Hey, it’s okay.” A warm hand catches his and squeezes. “It’s just me.”

“Eren?” For a moment, Armin can’t breathe. “What – “

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Eren eases himself down onto the bed slowly, dressed in a dark green uniform that fills Armin with an acute sense of horror. “I would’ve let you sleep, but you were crying.”

Bewildered, Armin remains silent. Even when Eren uses the corner of the blanket to wipe at the tears he didn’t know were there, he keeps still. Maybe it’s just because he’s exhausted, but it takes Armin a moment to recognize the dark green he’s seeing as Eren’s work shirt, and the fear ebbs away.

“Are you okay?” His boyfriend’s dark brows are furrowed, and his eyes seem to shine with worry. “Were you having a bad dream?”

Armin shakes his head, though he isn’t entirely sure, tugging on Eren’s hand until he gets the hint and leans over into the fold of Armin’s arms. He smells vaguely like onions, which Armin supposes is a downside to working at a Subway, but right now, he just wants Eren in his arms. He can’t really explain why.

“What’s up with you?” Eren mumbles.

Armin responds with a question of his own. “Have we ever been to the ocean?”

Eren hums, head tucked into the curve of Armin’s shoulder. “I wish. Maybe once we graduate. And one of us gets a car.”

“We’d die before we got there.” Armin replies, mostly because none of them can navigate to save their lives, but…

“Probably.” Eren laughs, pulling away before Armin is ready to let him go. “Marco said your grandpa called earlier.”

Oh. That. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm.”

Eren isn’t buying it. “ _Armin_.”

“It’s just.” Armin bites his lip, rubbing at his face restlessly. “He’s doing well _,_ you know? And I’m. _This._ ”

“You’ve always been like this.” It’s the simple truth of the matter, spoken plainly in the deep richness of Eren’s voice. Maybe he used to be able to sleep through the night consistently, but he’s _always_ been that core part of himself, even before they gave it a name. “He knows that. He loves you.”

“I know.”

“You may think you’re barely scraping by, but you’re doing good, Armin. Better than any of us.”

Armin nods, finally making a move to wipe the rest of the tears from his face. “Okay.” He says shakily. “Okay.”

“Do you still need help with your math homework?” Eren asks, switching gears in an instant. He’s always moving forward, never looking back if he can help it. “We can always wait and do it tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine, let’s do it now.” Armin sighs, tossing the blankets from his body as Eren stands, working on undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Eren is walking toward the closet when he stops, half facing the bedroom door, staring at the calendar. It’s almost seven thirty. The sun is starting to set. Of course Eren would be thinking about the calendar. “What kind of day is it?”

Armin hates it. He hates that calendar, hates that Eren even has to ask, but it’s part of his routine now. Eren asks the question and Armin thinks back on his childhood, on his trips to the doctor.

The psychologists used to ask him to rate his discomfort in any given situation on a scale of one to ten. The higher the number, the higher Armin’s anxiety. The higher his fear. The worse his life.

Numbers climb and so does Armin’s pulse.

“Five.” Armin replies, and as Eren grabs the red Expo marker from the dresser, he thinks back on his dream, remembers how he’d felt in the moment his knees hit the sand and the salt of his tears mixed with that of the sea.

He’s never actually experienced a Ten sort of day before… but Armin imagines it would feel exactly like that.

* * *

Every once in a while, things get weird at night. And not in the usual way.

“I didn’t even know we owned a basketball.” Armin muses, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands out of habit. It’s really Eren’s, but it smells like him, so Armin feels no guilt over his theft.

“I think it used to be mine.” Marco replies mirthfully around his cigarette. Raising his voice a little, he adds, “And it’s supposed to be an indoor ball!”

Jean rolls his eyes, trying and failing to spin the ball on one finger while Eren watches keenly. “Who cares, it’s not like we’re ever gonna do this again.”

“And what are we doing, exactly?”

“Two-on-two. You and me against Eren and Armin.”

“Is this supposed to be a date night?” Armin grumbles, stuffing his hands underneath his armpits. He normally just goes along with Jean and Eren’s whims, but it’s the beginning of April, it’s almost eleven, and he’d much rather be in bed even if there’s no hope of actually going to sleep. “Because it’s not Tuesday, Jean.”

“Hey, every night is date night in this family.”

Armin groans even as Marco throws his cigarette to the ground and stands up, stubbing it out with his sneaker. “But I’m uncoordinated.”

“You really aren’t that bad.” Eren swears, and Armin’s only slightly peeved as he’s wrangled to his feet and dragged onto the court by warm hands. “This isn’t like school, none of us actually give a shit if you miss a basket.”

“Seriously, it’s all the better for me if you do miss.” Jean adds, and Eren’s responding glare promises later suffering. “But yeah. What he said. S’all good.”

Breathing out a lingering sigh, Armin comes to terms with the fact that there’s no way out of this. Even Marco isn’t complaining, standing idly with his hands in his pockets and a quirked smile on his face as Jean pulls him close to whisper about game plans.

“It’ll warm us up at least.” Eren offers. The boyish grin on his face is peculiar, and Armin stares in the dim light provided by the faulty streetlamps on either side of the court. “Hey, is that my hoodie?”

“No.” Armin sniffs, and when that dumb grin only widens, the last of his irritation melts away. “I mean, it could be. I don’t know. It’s dark.”

Jean glares at them, dribbling the ball once, twice, in an almost _threatening_ manner, and Armin and Eren can’t help but giggle. “Stop _flirting,_ this is serious!”

“Okay, strategy.” Eren announces loudly, and Jean turns away, seemingly appeased. “I don’t know, just shoot and hope it goes in.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’re fucked.” Eren says seriously, but the effect is ruined as he bumps Armin’s hip with his own. “Don’t worry about it. Jean always fucks up a ton when he really wants to win.”

That, Armin cannot deny. “But Marco will pick up the slack.”

Eren shrugs, flippant in his ignorance. “It’s been so long since he played. What could he possibly do?”

Armin frowns, staring at Eren curiously, wondering if he could have seriously forgotten.

Eren _had_ forgotten the formidable duo Jean and Marco make, as it turns out, and Armin spends most of the game doubled over in wracking fits of laughter as Eren and Jean’s angry voices echo in the emptiness of the night.

There was the altercation nearly three minutes into the game, according to Armin’s watch.

“Oi, this isn’t fucking football, you can’t hold the ball like that!”

“Are you kidding me, I’ve had it for like two seconds, calm down.”

Then another at the eleven-minute mark.

“Marco, are you seeing this, he totally double-dribbled.”

“I _didn’t,_ I was getting ready to shoot.”

And Armin’s personal favorite, not even fifteen seconds after that.

“Goal-tending!”

“What the fuck does that even _mean?_ ”

“It means that you’re cheating and have been since we started!”

“Stop being such a bitch, Jean, it’s _basketball._ ”

It comes back to Armin, slowly throughout the duration of the game, all the times they used to do this when they were kids. Marco was the only one who played competitively, but he would show them everything he learned in practice at the park while their mothers looked on.

Things have decidedly changed since then, but other aspects have stayed the same. Eren and Jean are still competitive, practically at each other’s throats at the mere mention of a challenge and fighting until the bitter end.

Marco still lights up in a way he only does with a basketball in his hands. Even now, years after he quit playing, his movements are fluid and practiced, and if Jean messes up somehow – only because he couldn’t take his eyes off his lucid and focused boyfriend – Marco is there to follow through.

And Armin still doesn’t like sports. He consistently misses nearly half of his shots and gets winded easily, but he likes how being with his friends makes him feel. He could miss every single shot for the rest of his life and none of them would care, so long as he just kept playing. 

He and Eren lose, as they always did, but there isn’t a trace of disappointment in either of them as Jean celebrates in his over exuberant way, wrapping his thin arms around Marco’s waist and twirling him around, never mind that Marco is bigger and taller.

Marco actually laughs, punctuated and hoarse like it was startled out of him, but he doesn’t stop, and it’s undoubtedly the most important victory of the night.

Eren is breathing hard beside Armin, hunched forward with his hands on his knees because he puts too much of himself into everything he does. But when he glances up at Armin, eyes wide and dark hair plastered to his face with sweat, he looks more at ease than he has in a long time. “We should do this more often.” He breathes, and Armin nods despite the lump in his throat.

* * *

It’s just about three minutes after twelve when they finally get home. Jean collapses on the pullout couch even before Marco finishes setting it up, and Armin keeps Eren from bumping into every wall and surface on their way to the bedroom. From a certain standpoint, everything is normal.

But for the first time in nearly five months, the four of them simultaneously sleep through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like how I can't think about basketball anymore without fazing into knb mode, I didn't ask for this life


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks, shit gets real after this.

For them, there are mostly bad days, marked in skyrocketing statistics on the calendar, each month displaying a different professional picture of an orcinus orca and a whole new set of problems.

The bad days all look the same. Marco smokes and Eren rages and Jean won’t talk to anyone. The numbers in Armin’s head dictate how many steps he walks, how many breaths he takes, and even how he does his homework.

But there are good days too, always seeming to come when they need them most.

Those are the days when they watch porn on Jean’s ancient laptop and giggle over the horrible acting coupled with the absurdity of the plots. Jean jokes about trying to fit Marco into some of the positions, and Eren doesn’t because he knows better.

They bicker on the good days, because no one can bring themselves to bring further unhappiness on the bad ones. Marco calls Eren a slob for leaving his socks everywhere, and Armin rags on Jean for taking too long in the bathroom.

It’s no meticulously kept secret that they rely on one another too much. At first, they struggled to click, four young boys with no common interests forced together out of necessity, but then circumstances changed, _they_ changed, and something stronger than camaraderie settled in the air around them.

On the good days, they can go back to how things were before the world started shifting, before they found themselves unable to sleep through the night. They’re reminded that they are teenage boys, best friends who sometimes annoy the living hell out of each other although the love is there just the same.

They can forget they’re struggling to keep themselves and each other from falling apart.

It makes Armin think things might get better, if only for a moment.

He cherishes those days.

* * *

Eighteenth birthdays for them were always going to mean something a little different than the norm. There are no big parties or any form of extravagance. Just a quiet, bittersweet relief.

Eren had reached that milestone one month earlier, and after his mom’s death had retreated as much as was mentally and physically possible until his father eventually kicked him out.

Marco will turn eighteen in June. He’d grown up under a more permissive parenting style, so when he’d wanted to move out – and despite the obviousness of his crippling depression – neither his mom nor dad had tried to stop him.

Armin is the youngest of the bunch and won’t have his turn until November, but he’s been emancipated since he was thirteen, so there was never really a threat of being forced to return to his parents.

The seventh of April is Jean’s personal victory. At exactly midnight, he slides from between the press of Marco’s and Eren’s bodies on the couch and curls up on the floor, grinding his forehead slowly against the carpet.

He doesn’t say a word, and neither does anyone else.

Legally, Jean’s free of his father. Nothing and no one can change that, and it’s easier to breathe. But chains are in place, Armin knows, tethering his friend down and keeping him connected to the one man he never wants to see again.

A simple birthday can’t break those, no matter how much he wishes it could.

“Sometimes.” Jean’s stomach rises and falls beneath Armin’s cheek as he takes a lingering breath. “Sometimes I miss the old man.”

Armin closes his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I miss. I miss the times we’d make smores in the backyard. Remember that, Armin? Your marshmallow caught on fire once and you cried.”

“Hm.”

“Eren stomped on it ‘cause he thought it was trying to hurt you.”

The quality of Jean’s voice is off. It’s too tight, too low. Armin flexes his arm, grip around Jean’s hips as tight as he can make it. This is what happens when they’re the only ones awake. The night gets too soft.

Marco breathes evenly on the couch above them, one arm balanced precariously on the edge, and Armin watches through half-lidded eyes as Jean reaches up to stroke the freckled skin.

“Remember when he tried to kill you?”

Armin frowns, if only slightly. He’s caught somewhere between sleep and awareness, even if the living room floor is the most uncomfortable surface in the apartment. Everything seems loose, his thoughts, his voice, the very air around him. It’s frightening, in a soothing sort of way.

Somehow, he doesn’t need to ask whom Jean is referring to.

“Eren.” Armin says, so soft it’s almost a sigh. “He’d never kill anyone.”

“He would. He has.”

The thumping beat just beneath Armin’s cheek is steadily increasing. “Jean?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying.” Jean declares, quietly. He doesn’t sound happy about it, not that he should. “Maybe we’re schizophrenic.”

“I’m obsessive compulsive, not schizophrenic.”

“Me, then. Maybe I’m the crazy one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because.” Marco shifts on the couch, unconsciously pulling his arm away from Jean’s featherlike touch. “Because I hear things. When I’m awake. And asleep. But I don’t think I’m dreaming.”

It comes to Armin, vaguely, what Marco said about Jean hearing things. That must be a secret between the two of them, because Armin has never heard of this straight from Jean’s mouth before. “What kinds of things are you hearing?”

“I don’t know. I can’t explain… “

“Jean?”

“You know.” Jean’s body bounces in a silent laugh. “I think you’re gonna make it, Armin. Out of all of us, it’s gonna be you.” Armin doesn’t like the sound of that. He _hates_ it, but Jean continues. “’Cause you’re so smart. Smarter than any of these dumb fucks. And when you get past these walls, don’t you fucking _dare_ look back or I’ll finish what Jaeger started.”

Armin’s completely awake now, although he doesn’t want to be. But he can’t move, just stays curled up on the floor next to one of his closest friends, staring wide-eyed at the wall across the room, because there’s nothing else he can do.

“Jean.” Armin says. He feels like crying, and his head hurts. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.” Jean replies, and Armin would sit up and look at him were he not so afraid of what he might see. “I really don’t.”

* * *

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when things started getting a little crazy, but if Armin had to pick a specific moment in time, it would be when Marco lost all feeling in the right half of his body for ten minutes when they were thirteen.

They were spooked, and rightfully so. Marco was inconsolable, and Jean had never looked more terrified than he did in those ten minutes. It was the first in a series of unexplainable events, all occurring in the span of five years and coming to a head in the wee hours of Jean's eighteenth birthday.

April 7th, 2015. 

That was the breaking point.


	7. Chapter 7

“Titans.”

Jean is staring at Eren so intently it almost makes _Armin_ uncomfortable, never mind Eren, who doesn’t even move from his slumped position against Armin’s side.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Eren grumbles, head heavy on Armin’s shoulder. He’s been like this since Armin came home from his shift, trailing him like a lost, angry puppy. Armin doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’ll wait until Eren’s ready to talk to him.

“That doesn’t mean anything to you?” Jean presses. “Nothing at all?”

“Should it?” Armin asks, because he’s just as confused as his boyfriend probably is.

This obviously means something to Jean or else he never would’ve brought it up. But then, he’s been acting strangely since his birthday, keeping his distance from them only to get in their faces to say the oddest things. Even Marco isn’t safe from any of it. In fact, Jean is _especially_ jumpy around Marco, and that alone is reason enough to worry.

“No, I just.” Jean groans, tearing at his hair in frustration. He has an undercut now, took some scissors and Eren’s razor and did it himself just a few days ago, leaving all the sheared hair in the sink for someone else to find. He’s always been impulsive, but aside from getting his right ear pierced when they were freshmen, Jean’s never done anything _that_ drastic to himself. “God, I don’t _understand.”_

“Maybe we could help if you’d start making some fucking sense.” Eren snaps, shaking his head when Armin tries to mollify him. “No, I’m serious, someone shut him up before I lose my mind.”

Jean doesn’t even say anything, just continues to stare at Eren’s face through narrowed eyes, and Armin shifts on the couch, pressing further into the heat of Eren’s body.

Marco’s banging around in the kitchen, looking for bowls to put under the leaky spots in the ceiling. It’s been raining almost nonstop all afternoon, which could explain why Eren is acting like this, since he hates the rain. “You have to be more specific, Jean.” Marco calls. “Titans as in the gods, the football team, or. What, the movie?”

“Those aren’t _right_.” Jean mutters, almost to himself. “I mean, they _are,_ but – “

Eren stands abruptly, leaving Armin floundering to remain upright. “I’m going to bed.” He announces, stalking off to the bedroom without looking at any of them.

“Good fucking luck with that!” Jean calls, finally showing some aspect of his usual demeanor, but he quickly goes back to quiet contemplation as soon as the bedroom door slams shut. “Prick.”

“You two have been insufferable lately.” Marco sighs as he wanders by, echoing Armin’s own feelings on the matter. “Just kiss and make up like the best friends you are, yeah?”

Jean says nothing, just tracks Marco’s movements with his eyes. It feels oddly intimate, and Armin clears his throat before standing. “I’m gonna… go lay down with him. Marco, do you need help with the – “

“No, no, just go before Eren demolishes your room.”

Armin doesn’t need to be told twice, and he casts one last glance at Jean before getting to his feet.

“Really, Jean, what is this about Titans?” Marco asks as Armin walks away. “You were muttering about them in your sleep last night, too.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Is Jean’s detached reply, and Armin releases a shaky exhale, wondering just what all of this is doing to everyone.

Later, after Eren’s finally fallen asleep, Armin takes Jean’s laptop into their bedroom and types _titans_ into an opened web browser.

Nearly ninety-four million results come to him in just about point three-five seconds, mostly YouTube videos and Wikipedia pages, but as Armin scrolls through the pages, a single link manages to catch and hold his attention.

It’s just a forum. Devoted to what, Armin isn’t sure, but just from reading the comments…

 **I feel like titans were legit things that ate people?** **( ゜ ´Д ｀ ゜)**

**OMFG SAAAME i thought i got high and dreamed it but guess im not the only one???**

**this is some alternate universe shit, like that bearenstain/stein thing**

**Well I’m from the stein universe and I say titans roamed this earth.**

He deletes the search history before closing the laptop.

* * *

_Armin feels like he could choke on this silence, on the way it rings._

_Jean hasn’t left his bedside in hours, but he hasn’t said so much as a word. Armin can’t see him very well unless he turns his head, but even that much is too painful._

_So, he sits. Sits and waits for Jean to say what Armin knows he doesn’t want to hear._

_“They’re starting the demolition today.”_

_Armin stares down at his hands, fisted atop the bed linens. “Shouldn’t you be helping?”_

_“Later. I… I wanted to see you. If I leave, I’ll be gone for a long time.”_

And he might not come back, _Armin thinks, gnawing on his bottom lip, already swollen and throbbing from earlier abuse. He tastes blood in his mouth, sharp and bitter, and Jean’s pushing a tin cup into his hand before Armin even knows what’s happening._

_“You’re shaking.” He notes as Armin lifts the cup to his mouth with both hands. “Are you still in pain, do I need to get Hange – “_

_“Don’t.” It hurts, drinking the water, hearing the concern in Jean’s tone. The only people he’s seen since the incident are Hange and Mikasa, and they, at least, understand the situation and how Armin feels about it. “I’m fine, just. Tired.”_

_“How’s the eye?”_

_Armin almost laughs, but that would hardly be appropriate. “They couldn’t salvage what was left of it, so it’s gone. That’s why I’m wearing these bandages, so no one has to look at the empty socket.”_

_“Armin – “_

_“I’m getting an eye-patch, though. So that’s pretty neat.”_

_“What is it with our brilliant minds losing body parts?” Jean muses. His chair groans in protest as he shifts. “First Erwin, now you. Who’s next, Hange?”_

_“Well, Eren was first, technically.”_

_Jean sighs, actually sighs, and Armin almost wishes he hadn't said a word. “Armin, you have to…_ deal _with what happened, you know?”_

_“I’m dealing with it, Jean.” Armin says monotonously. He lifts a hand to his face, fingers the spot where his left eye used to be. “Trust me.”_

_“Eren was – “_

_“Eren is_ fine. _” Armin interrupts, loudly, directly into the ringing silence that may or may not just be inside his own head. “Mikasa and Captain Levi are with him, nothing will happen.”_

 _“Armin.” Jean keeps saying his name, and Armin bites at his lip again, remaining still as Jean scoots his chair closer to the bed. “I don’t think you’re grasping the situation here. Eren, okay, your_ best friend _, tried to_ kill you _.”_

_Armin says nothing, because Jean isn’t Mikasa. He won’t understand._

_“I don’t want you to come away from this broken, alright? Believe me, I’ve been there.” Armin closes his remaining eye, tries not to think about Marco. “Just don’t_ lie _to yourself.”_

_“Eren didn’t do it.”_

_“Huh?”_

_Armin shakes his head. He’s been careful to keep his thoughts from wandering since he regained consciousness nearly a week ago, but looking back now… Armin is only further convinced. “It wasn’t him. We’ve known almost since the beginning that something was in his skin. And whatever got me that day… it wasn’t Eren.”_

_The silence comes again, softer this time. “Okay.” Jean says, slowly, as if he’s speaking to a child. “Okay, Armin.”_

_“Be safe, outside Rose.” Armin replies. He’s ready to be alone again. “I predicted straggling Titans, but I don’t know how many there actually are – “_

_“You know.” Jean interrupts him, and Armin tongues at the inside of his cheek, caught in mid-sentence._ _“I think you’re gonna make it, Armin. Out of all of us, it’s gonna be you.” Armin doesn’t like the sound of that. He_ hates _it, but Jean stands up before he can say anything in reply. “’Cause you’re so smart. Smarter than any of these dumb fucks. And when you get past these walls, don’t you fucking_ dare _look back or I’ll finish what Jaeger started.”_

_And with that, he’s gone, abandoning Armin to the silence._

* * *

He wakes with it, that soul-eclipsing quiet, and he almost chokes at the pressure, doesn’t know where he is, what he’s supposed to be doing –

“ _Armin_.”

Armin freezes. He hesitates, unsure if he was imagining things, but it comes again, the desperate whimpering, and he’s quick to push himself up, reaching over to turn on the lamp near his bedside.

Eren’s lying with his back to Armin, bare shoulders hunched high and quivering. This is nothing Armin hasn’t seen before – they all have nightmares – but the tanned skin of Eren’s back is shiny and slick with perspiration, and the noises he’s making…

“Eren.” Armin says, voice hoarse. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been asleep, doesn’t have the time to check the clock no matter how _badly_ he wants to, but it’s dark out, and thunder still sounds in the distance.

He scoots closer to his boyfriend, reaches out to touch his shoulder…

But when he blinks, he’s flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling in dazed confusion and pawing at his suddenly throbbing right eye.

“Stop it!” Armin struggles up yet again at Eren’s screeching cry, screwing his eye shut and trying to ignore the nagging notion that they’ve _been_ here before. “Stop _it, stop it – “_

“Eren!” Armin tries again, fighting past the pain and exhaustion he feels and throwing himself forward as Eren tries to get up. He’s sleepwalked before, tumbled straight down a flight of stairs when they were kids, and Armin’s not about to let him do it now, not when he’s like this. “Eren, wake up!”

The bedroom door slams open, revealing Jean and Marco, wide-eyed and rumpled, and Armin stares at them helplessly, half on top of Eren as he continues to struggle.

Their nights used to always be like this, in the beginning, one or two or four of them waking up in uncontrollable, unexplainable fits that lasted from ten seconds to ten minutes. Eren’s were always the worst, because he hides too much, bottles too much, has lived and loved more than any of them and has lost just as much.

And Armin can see it in Marco’s and Jean’s eyes, that they've fallen back to square one.

“Why are we like this?” Eren belts out, suddenly awake, eyes rolling and tears streaming down his face. Armin just tightens his grip, refusing to let go. “What did we _do_?”

“You fucked up.” Jean replies monotonously, and Marco is already trying to pull him away, arms hooked around Jean’s torso. Eren and Jean can’t be together when they get like this. They feed off one another’s insanity. “You fucked up so bad, Eren, and nothing’s going to make it right.”

Eren just keeps sobbing, and Armin hears pounding on the wall, on the ceiling, on his own chest. It’s dark and they’re tired and they’re _too_ _young_ for any of it. “I’m so sorry, Armin.” Eren hisses, voice tight and shrill with rising hysteria. He hasn’t had a panic attack in months, but one seems to be building. “I’m _so sorry,_ I didn’t – I couldn’t – “

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Armin is crying himself now, tugging Eren onto his back and then pulling him up into a sitting position. He knows he isn’t supposed to touch someone on the verge of a panic attack, but this seems like something else altogether, something indefinable and completely alive in the sea foam of Eren’s eyes. “You didn’t, Eren, I _promise_.”

“ _Mom._ ” Eren hiccups, and Armin’s stomach lurches violently. Jean and Marco are nowhere to be seen. “Mom, _I’m sorry_.”

And with just that _one_ word, Armin’s out of his element. The only thing he can do is wrap his arms around Eren’s shoulders and let him cry himself back to sleep. That’s all he could ever do, back when they were kids. Absolutely nothing has changed.

He lowers Eren back down once his body goes limp in Armin’s arms, but even if Eren is temporarily calmed, Armin is far from being in the same state.

Scrambling to turn off the light, Armin engulfs the room in darkness before even attempting to get up from the bed, cradling the side of his face. Eren’s never struck out at him before, no matter how frantic, and Armin doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Okay.” Armin breathes, lowering his hand. The tears have stopped, but they’re still wet on his face. “Okay.”

He dresses himself in whatever is lying at his feet and heads for the door. Marco must have closed it while he was dragging Jean away, because all Armin’s adjusted eyesight can see is the calendar, marked up in red…

Armin grabs the marker, and like a man possessed, begins to write.

He marks over the entire month of April with a giant ten, and May after that, because _of course_ nothing will change from now until then.

June. Ten.

July. Ten.

August, September, October, ten, ten, ten.

The tack pinning the calendar to the door wriggles loose as Armin aggressively flips through the months, and he throws the marker without capping it as everything crumples at his feet.

Marco is sitting on the couch with Jean’s head in his lap as Armin rushes into the living room, and he glances up with a concerned look that quickly morphs into one of horror. “Oh, Armin, your _eye –_ “

He leaves without a word, wearing his coat and Eren’s shoes with no real destination in mind aside from _anywhere else._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever want emoticons to put in fics but aren't sure where to find them, look for any story involving Oikawa Tooru or Kise Ryouta, works like a charm ( ●´ ∀ ｀ ） ノ


	8. Chapter 8

Even through the dark and rain, Armin’s a creature of habit, and he finds himself inside the diner before long. There’s nowhere else he can really go.

“Well, look what the storm blew in.” Someone says, and Armin blinks past the rain in his lashes to find their usual waitress smiling at him from behind the counter. “I haven’t seen you and your friends in a while. Thought you might’ve moved on.”

 _To where?_ Armin thinks as he sits down at the nearest booth, dripping water everywhere and uncaring of the fact. He lifts a hand to his face, fingering at his eye, which is only just starting to really bother him. Eren hit him hard enough to knock him flat on his back, so Armin won’t be surprised if there’s bruising in the morning.

And Armin can’t find it in himself to be mad. Eren will beat himself up over this enough, if he even remembers what happened when he comes to.

“ _Oh_.” Her expression is naked with shock as she comes over with the pitcher. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t want any.” Armin hunches his shoulders, tries to make himself small. “Coffee.”

“That’s.” She hesitates, hovering over him for a moment before turning and hurrying away, disappearing into the back where Armin’s eyes can’t follow her.

He wipes at his face gingerly with the sleeve of his coat, attempting to dry the tears and rainwater both. There’s a clock, somewhere, and Armin counts the ticks under his breath, ten and fifteen and climbing –

There’s a small towel in his hands. Armin stares at it as he struggles to refocus, and the loud ticking in his mind recedes to the edges. He glances up and finds the waitress sitting across from him in the booth, smiling kindly although her eyes seem strained.

“For your eye.” She says, pushing something cold into Armin’s free hand. A bag of ice. “Wrap this up with it. It’ll help with the swelling.”

“… Thanks.” Armin replies after a lingering heartbeat, doing as she says and lifting the makeshift icepack up to his face.

She hisses alongside him as it makes contact. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

“Did you get in a fight?”

“Something like that.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” She hurries to amend, shaking her hands in a vaguely surrendering manner. “But I’m taking my break now, the boss man kinda likes me, so. Yeah. I’ll listen, if you want to talk, I mean.”

Armin eyes her warily, fingers twitching around the curves of the ice cubes in the baggie. It’s been a long time… since he actually held a conversation with someone who wasn’t Eren, Jean, or Marco. His own grandpa is a stretch, and Armin can’t imagine ever telling the old man _any_ of what’s currently running through his mind.

But despite everything, Armin does want to say something. To anyone who will listen. And if it has to be this woman with the large eyes and messy ponytail, well, that’ll have to do. Armin’s just too tired to fight his insecurities and doubts right now. And if he can’t come back to this diner after this, well, it’s a small price to pay.

“I’m sorry.” Armin says eventually, allowing the corners of his mouth to twitch into what he hopes is a convincing enough smile. “We’ve been coming here for so long, and I don’t even know your name.”

Unfazed, the girl laughs, waving him off. “Eh, it’s fine. I forget to wear my nametag most of the time. No one’s really said anything, since I work the graveyard shift and all. But, ah, my name’s Sasha."

“Armin.” He replies, almost wanting to join in on her laughter, it’s that infectious. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“Officially.” Sasha echoes, and looking at her makes something tight and uncomfortable settle thick in Armin’s chest. It’s hard to breathe, suddenly, and the tears come again. “It’s okay, Armin. I’m here to listen.”

It isn’t like talking to a therapist, which Armin has done too many times to count. Sasha doesn’t offer suggestions or nod her head like she understands, just sits in silence and actually _listens._ And Armin actually finds himself unable to control his mouth and what’s coming out of it, which is a first.

He tells her about their mothers. About the breast cancer. How Armin’s and Marco’s moms went into remission whereas Eren’s and Jean’s didn’t, and how Armin thinks they still blame them for it, even if it wasn’t their fault.

“That’s where we met.” Armin remembers Marco with the gap in his front teeth, Jean and his angry, confused tears, Eren’s scuffed little knees. “In that _dumb_ support group.”

“No wonder you’re all so close.” Sasha comments. Her hand is balled into a fist and pressed tight to her mouth, so Armin can’t gauge her expression very well.

He tells her about the deterioration of their lives, one by one, starting with his legal struggles in becoming emancipated from his emotionally abusive parents and snowballing on from there, no end in sight.

Armin tells her about it all, about the numbers and the grip they have on him, their tiny apartment with its leaky ceilings and shrinking walls, the insomnia, even the dreams Armin and the others have been starting to have recently.

“You must think I’m crazy.” Armin says, laughing, mostly to himself. It feels somewhat liberating to say it out loud.

Sasha shakes her head fiercely. It makes Armin dizzy just looking at her. “No. I think you’re all very brave.” That’s actually a first. Armin doesn’t think anyone has called them brave before. “Isn’t there… someone you guys can rely on? Aside from each other?”

Armin laughs again, though this time it’s tinged with bitterness. “Well, my parents are out of the question. Eren’s dad wants nothing to do with him, and Jean’s _terrified_ of his. We don’t have a lot of options.”

“What about Marco’s – “

“His family isn’t well off. They’re still paying off his mom’s hospital bills. None of us feel right asking them for anything.”

Sasha seems genuinely upset, eyes drifting over Armin’s face as she searches for something to say. “Have you guys ever tried going to a group?”

“Yes. I can say with certainty _that’s_ never happening again.”

“But what if.” She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip. “What if there were other people that understood what you were going through? Like. With the insomnia? Or something.”

Armin can’t ignore the implications there even if he wanted to. “Do _you_ have insomnia?”

Sasha shrugs, seemingly sheepish. “Why do you think I work this shift?”

He doesn’t know how he missed it before. Looking at her now, Armin sees the ticks, the cracked and bitten skin of her lips, the makeup applied heavily just below her eyes to hide what are probably horrendously large dark circles, her frantic, jumbled manner of speech.

“The dreams, too.” Sasha continues, closing her thin, tanned fingers around a nearby saltshaker. “Those are normal. I think. I mean, everyone dreams.”

 _Not like this,_ Armin thinks, vividly recalling the ocean, having an eye missing from his skull…

“I think you guys should check it out. Or just you, if. You know. The others don’t want to.”

“I’ll run it by them.” Armin says, though he can’t imagine any of them reacting well to the mere suggestion. “But I can’t make any promises.”

Sasha’s mouth curves into a small smile, staring hard at the saltshaker. But she seems melancholic, somehow. In that moment, her eyes remind Armin of Jean. “Naturally.”

* * *

Sasha’s boss may love her, but she has to get back to work eventually, scrubbing down tables and cleaning menus and refilling various bottles. Armin stays until dawn, until the storm subsides and the sun’s rays peek out from behind the clouds. He stays until Sasha clocks out. He walks her to the bus station and waves her goodbye, and only then does he head for home.

Armin doesn’t think he’s ever been _this_ nervous to go home before. He knows it takes two thousand and forty one steps to get from the diner to the apartment, but by the time he winds up in front of their door, he’s taken nearly three thousand.

Some part of Armin hopes the others just went to school without him. They really can’t afford to skip this much with graduation so close, and it’s already a miracle that they haven’t been taken in for truancy.

Armin doesn’t want to open the door because he’s scared of what he might find, but he can’t just stand out in the hall all day. He has to face this. Even if he doesn’t want to.

The door isn’t locked when Armin tries the knob, and he’s left stifling a sigh, a twinge of fond exasperation breaking through his anxiety. He hears movement from deep within the apartment. “Armin?”

“I’m. Here.” Armin says as Eren appears from around the corner, hair and eyes wild as he looks Armin up and down. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“I was so fucking worried, you just – “ They gravitate towards each other as they always have, but Armin is expecting it when Eren stops in his tracks the moment he gets a good look at Armin’s face. “Oh, God, your _eye.”_

“It’s not that bad.” Armin murmurs, already tired of hearing it, remaining still as Eren cups his face between his palms, slow and gentle in a way they weren’t last night. He wonders if his boyfriend even remembers any of it.

Eren pulls a face, ocean eyes wet and shimmering with guilt. He remembers. “It’s swollen shut! Armin… “

“It wasn’t your fault. It,” his dream comes back to him suddenly, haltingly, how he’d vehemently maintained Eren’s innocence to a Jean very different from his own, “it wasn’t you.”

Eren isn’t having any of it. “It _was._ I don’t know – I’m _sorry._ ” He doesn’t cry much, not when he’s awake, but his body trembles under the weight of his obvious shame, and Armin can do nothing else but tug Eren close and tuck his face into the curve of Armin’s shoulder. “I don’t know what happened, I never meant to hit you.”

“You were having a nightmare.” Armin says, rubbing at the space between Eren’s shoulder blades while the other boy clutches at him desperately. He feels guilty for staying away so long, for allowing Eren to wake up with this shame. He almost wants to ask Eren what he’d dreamed, but the last thing he wants is to set him off again. “It’s not like this happens all the time, Eren.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all! I don’t know what’s wrong with me – “

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.” Armin insists, pushing back on Eren’s shoulders so he can look him in the eye. “Well, aside from the obvious.”

And Eren snorts, rubbing at his leaking eyes and running nose. He’s probably the ugliest crier Armin knows, but he still can’t help but smile, helping Eren dry his face. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Armin glances at the mused blankets and pillows on the couch, still rolled out. “Where are Marco and Jean?”

“They went to school. I stayed home in case you showed up here.” Eren frowns, staring hard at Armin’s face. “Marco told me you were really shaken up last night. Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

Is he okay? Well, Armin feels exponentially better than he did just a few hours ago. Talking to Sasha about everything helped more than he thought he would, and Armin almost wants to tell Eren about it, though something stops him.

“I’m fine, really. I walked around for a few hours, went to the diner… Everything’s okay.”

It’s obvious Eren wants more than that, like he doesn’t really believe what Armin is saying, and no one could blame him. If the situation were reversed, Armin would think that was the biggest load of crap he’d ever heard.

But last night was a lot. And Armin just knows things are only going to get worse, though he can’t say why. So, he’ll pretend, for himself, for Eren, and for Marco and Jean.

For now, Armin will be fine.

“Hey.” Armin says, taking hold of Eren’s warm hands and holding fast. “Let’s go play basketball.”


End file.
